


Let the Witch Fly

by aravenwood



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Rodney McKay Whump, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-14 21:09:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9203246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aravenwood/pseuds/aravenwood
Summary: Rodney dreamed of knifes, floods and thunder. After near-misses or bad missions, he saw them even in his waking moments; they flashed across his vision every time he tried to rest his eyes and pushed him to keep going even past his limits.He should have dreamed of whips and nooses – his dreams should have prepared him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, this is my first completed fic for this fandom, originally written for the hurt/comfort bingo prompt "torture". I'll admit I'm a newbie to this fandom - started watching it last year so only seven years late to the party. Fashionably late, you know?
> 
> I'll give you a bit of a warning here; some people may find the following content a little graphic. So before you start reading, make sure you keep in mind the tags; namely "torture". Also, this contains very minor spoilers for season one; namely "The Storm".
> 
> That's about all I have to say; you didn't click on the link to read my rambling, after all. So, I hope you enjoy it and hopefully I didn't completely ruin Stargate Atlantis for you.

Rodney dreamed of knifes, floods and thunder. After near-misses or bad missions, he saw them even in his waking moments; they flashed across his vision every time he tried to rest his eyes and pushed him to keep going even past his limits.

He should have dreamed of whips and nooses – his dreams should have prepared him. He hated that they didn’t.

His torturer cracked the whip in the air just to watch him flinch, and he didn’t disappoint. After what felt like hours of flogging and punches, he felt like his entire body was on fire. Part of him wished that was the case – at least then it would be ending soon.

“Did you really think they would come for you?” the man with the whip sneered. In a way, he reminded Rodney of his ninth grade math teacher; they had the same way of making him feel like he deserved to die and that it hadn’t happened yet was a miracle. He’d only been eleven years old, having skipped a few grades mostly so he would actually pay attention in class, and Mr Bragg had taken an immediate disliking to him; he’d make eleven year old Rodney stand up in front of a room of fourteen year olds and explain math problems that were way above their level. 

Mr Whip was just like that – he wanted to see Rodney cry; wanted him to break; wanted him to give up hope just like Mr Bragg had wanted him to give up and go back a grade. But Rodney had beaten Mr Bragg; not only that, he’d humiliated the bastard in front of his class and the principal. 

He’d beaten one bully and he’d beat this one too. 

This time the whip made contact with his shoulder blade, and he had to bite his lip to hold back a sob. “I don’t understand how you expect this to end – with my death? What then? So you’re a murderer, what then? Murder isn’t accepted by any civilization. You go home and you’re put to death; you try to run and they’ll find out what you are – my people will make sure of that. You kill me and your life is over,” he threatened, sounding braver than he felt. 

“It’s a good thing I’m not going to kill you then.” Mr Whip smacked the air again and Rodney curled his body as much as he could with the bar between his hands that was designed specifically to prevent such an action.

“W-what?” he mumbled as he tried to bury his face in his own shoulder – it was awkward and uncomfortable, but discomfort was the least of his concerns.

Mr Whip chuckled. “No, I’m not going to kill you. The Father is.”

‘The Father’ was the “president” of the town, and Rodney was sure he hadn’t committed any terrible crimes which would justify torture like this. But nothing would really justify this, would it?

“The Father doesn’t like people like you – people who discredit his power and claim witchcraft is the power of all.”

“It’s not witchcraft; it’s science!” Rodney growled, only to be lashed once more. This time, he couldn’t hold back a guttural cry. “Stop hitting me!”

Mr Whip hit him again. And again. And again. At some point, his vision whited out but he could still hear the crack of the whip. He couldn’t feel it anymore.

\--------------------------------------------------------------

Someone kicked him awake – he didn’t have the energy to protest this time. 

“It’s time, Witch,” someone other than Mr Whip informed him – Mr Boot. He pulled Rodney up by the scruff of his bare neck, inadvertently yanking a tuft of baby hairs from the base of his scalp. All the scientist could do was let out a weak sob as his knees buckled. He just wanted it to be over. 

Mr Boot dragged him through the open doorway and along a stone corridor, his knees scraping the floor all the way – he was thankful they’d left him with his pants after stripping him of his shirt and tac vest. His inner Sheppard instructed him to pay attention to all the twists and turns of the corridor, but he couldn’t see more than a few inches in front of his face through the tears. 

He vaguely wondered where they were taking him but couldn’t bring himself to think too hard about it.

Another voice called out to him and he flinched at the familiarity – Mr Whip was back. “Bring the witch forth!”

The low murmurs he’d been able to ignore were replaced by angry roars; “Hang the witch!” “Kill him!” “Praise the Father!” He found that he barely cared. The voices grew louder and then quiet as he was dragged through a crowd – more than once something hard and heavy hit his chest or his head or his back, but it was a brief ache that was nothing compared to the waves of agony sweeping across his body.

“The witch will die and his people will learn that we are not a people to be messed with. He will be a lesson they will never forget!” cried a proud, noble voice that had to belong to the so-called ‘Father’.

“’m not a witch,” Rodney slurred, forcing his eyes to open and look at his torturers. He was on a wooden stage in the middle of what looked like a medieval courtroom, but there was no jury – only a crowd of “judges” – and an executioner adjusting a noose to his left. They were going to hang him, it seemed. 

He should probably try to argue his case, he thought, but what was the point? Someone forced his head into the noose and tightened it – this time he found the energy to gasp and struggle for a few seconds before Mr Boot punched his ribs and stole the air from his lungs. 

“Sheppard, please. Please, not like this. Please help me. Please,” he whispered over and over between sobs. 

“Pull the lever and let the witch fly.”

And then he was flying.

\--------------------------------------------------------------

John had lost track of Rodney a few hours ago and it seemed that much had changed in that short amount of time. The physicist was bloody and beaten; bleeding from his face and from deep slices on his torso. Underneath the blood, his face was swollen, both from beatings and crying. And there was a rope around his neck.

“Pull the lever and let the witch fly.”

“No!” John screamed and pulled out his P90. He’d come to negotiate peacefully – that was why Teyla was waiting just outside the room – but he was always prepared because no one was ever peaceful – and Ronon was with Teyla for that reason.

Rodney’s legs thrashed weakly, the scientist too exhausted and defeated to fight even for his life. Seeing this, John fired at the rope and watched it snap, and Rodney plummeted down the trapdoor and out of sight. 

“Get him. They won’t come near you,” Ronon grumbled through the radio, and John didn’t wait for confirmation. He just ran for the stage. 

Ronon was right – no one tried to stop him. He hopped down the hole and crouched at Rodney’s side. “It’s okay, buddy. I’m here now, you’re okay.” He pulled on the rope to loosen it and threw it as far as he could manage – and he’d been a pitcher on his school baseball team, so he had a hell of an arm. 

Rodney wheezed with much difficulty and pried his eyelids apart. “Y-you came,” he slurred. “They think science is witchcraft…idiots.”

“Yeah, they are. No trading with the heathens. We can go home and we’re not coming back,” John reassured gently. He gathered Rodney in his arms but pulled back when the scientist cried out at the touch. “Sorry, buddy. You’ve got to be a little raw, right? That’s what happens when bastards whip you.”

Rodney flinched at the word “whip”. John foresaw even more nightmares in McKay’s near and distant future. 

Someone else joined them in the hole, and John turned his gun on them. Ronon lifted both his hands in defence and crouched at Rodney’s side. “We’re free to leave. They won’t try to stop us,” he promised, eyes narrowed at the sight of all the blood. “You want me to carry him?”

John shook his head. “Not yet. Let’s bandage his chest as well as we can and then figure out how to get him home. He’s in too much pain for us to carry him just yet.”

Ronon nodded slowly. Rodney sobbed. John wondered not for the first time why he’d agreed to join the expedition. He hadn’t expected this kind of cruelty outside of Earth, but here it was personified in the people who tortured a scientist for what they didn’t understand. 

This was just another planet to cross off the list. And that list was growing.

**Author's Note:**

> If you got this far, thanks for reading!


End file.
